In the unfolding of Ghana’s democratic journey, the recent removal of Chief Justice Gertrude Araba Torkornoo has stirred intense debate. While some have focused on the political optics, others have returned to the text of the Constitution, noting that due process was observed “copiously”, as many fair-minded lawyers have admitted. Yet the discourse must not end at the legal mechanics of removal. Rather, it must extend to the deeper lessons embedded in this moment for all who hold public office, and for all citizens who aspire to a democracy grounded in both justice and dignity.
An African proverb reminds us: “The lizard that jumps from the high iroko tree says it will praise itself if no one else does.” Authority is often like that leap—bold, lofty, commanding. But authority without humility, fairness, and a keen sense of responsibility becomes a dangerous leap, risking disgraceful landings.
The Standards of Public Officers
Public office is never private property. It is a trust loaned by the people and bounded by the Constitution. The first lesson in this saga is that the only one above the Constitution is the Constitution itself. Not the President, not the Vice-President, not the Speaker, not even the Chief Justice. If the President, chosen by millions, can be constitutionally removed for certain breaches, how much less those appointed to office by the hand of men?
Public officers must therefore uphold standards that transcend political patronage. Their body language, their speech, and their posturing must radiate fairness. Justice must not only be done—it must be seen to be manifestly done. A judicial officer, especially, must embody balance, wielding authority not with arrogance but with grace. Respect for colleagues, litigants, and even political actors is not a weakness; it is the very strength that sustains credibility in the eyes of the nation.
Authority and the Temptation of Partisanship
Every office of power is a contested space between neutrality and partisanship. But leadership in law and governance demands what Kwame Nkrumah once called a “consciencist spirit”—a loyalty first to truth and justice, and only then to any temporal alignment. The judicial office may exist in a political climate, but it must breathe less partisanship. To be timorous is to betray the people; to seek to please appointors is to mortgage the dignity of one’s office.
An African saying cautions: “When the shadow grows longer than the body, know that the sun is setting.” When a judge’s political shadow grows longer than the robe of impartiality, the moral authority of the bench begins its decline.
On Professionalism and Personal Histories
Another lesson is that professional duty cannot be sacrificed on the altar of personal memory. Family histories of suffering under previous regimes must never cloud professional judgment. The robe of justice does not carry the weight of lineage; it carries the weight of a nation’s trust. A public officer who allows past pain to guide present judgment becomes captive to bitterness rather than a servant of justice.
Conduct During Allegations and Investigations
Perhaps the clearest lesson is seen in the Chief Justice’s own conduct during the inquiry. When due process is underway, dignity demands restraint. Forum-shopping, public outbursts, name-calling, and misguided communications erode the majesty of the office more than the allegations themselves.
In moments of trial, silence often speaks louder than words, and resignation can be the wiser path when the writing is clearly on the wall. After all, it is nearly impossible to fight a government in power when the very Constitution you serve gives it the authority to carry out the due process against you.
The Constitution as the Final Arbiter
Those who lament the optics of removing a Chief Justice must answer a sober question: should the constitutional process be truncated at the altar of optics? The framers of Ghana’s Constitution foresaw that even a Chief Justice could grossly misbehave, hence the carefully laid provisions for removal.
To insist that the judiciary must be immune from accountability is to elevate judges above the law. And as the Chief Justice herself once said, “The law is the law.” In this case, the law has been duly followed—not to dishonour her person, but to preserve the integrity of the office.
The Ego in Public Office
Finally, this saga warns against swollen egos in public service. Power is fleeting; humility is enduring. Public office is a borrowed stool, not an ancestral throne. The wise Akan proverb says: “The stool is not carried to the grave.” Today one sits on it in majesty; tomorrow, one departs, and another takes the seat. Those who manage their egos with humility and fairness will be remembered long after their names fade from the gazette.
Conclusion
The removal of Ghana’s Chief Justice is not the death of judicial independence; it is a sober reminder that the law, like a river, must flow without obstruction. The Constitution is both the map and the compass. To breach it in the name of saving optics is to destroy the very foundation of Ghana’s democracy.
Let all public officers—judges, ministers, parliamentarians, and even presidents—engrave this lesson deep within: authority is service, not entitlement. The law is the law, and in the end, the Constitution alone remains above all.
By Yao Eli Sebastian Nafrah, PhD
SOURCE: myjoyonline.com
Editor’s note: Views expressed in this article do not represent that of The Chronicle
